


Five Stages Of Grief

by Miilkobitch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Acceptance, Anger, Bargaining, Denial, Depression, Five Stages of Grief, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miilkobitch/pseuds/Miilkobitch
Summary: Mickey is there to help Ian cope with the loss of Monica in a healthy way as Ian goes through the five stages of grief.





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> 8x02 pissed me off. Trevor convincing Ian to hook up with someone random to help him cope with the loss of his mother is not how you help someone you say you love. So, to help me deal with my frustration, I'm writing this mini fic. 
> 
> If you're reading Shitty Service, don't worry. I'm still going to be updating that regularly.

Ian was fast asleep, his arm draped over Mickey's waist. He was warm and the most comfortable he had ever been. Nothing compared to being tangled up with Mickey all night. Having the man he loved in arms reach never failed to make him feel whole. It made him feel safe. When that bubble was popped first thing in the morning and they were woken up by insistent text alerts coming from their nightstand, Mickey groaned loudly.

"Turn that shit off, man," Mickey said irritably, shoving his head under his pillow. He never was a morning person.

Ian rubbed his eyes and grabbed his phone, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He didn't need to look at the time to know that it was way too early. He sighed softly and unlocked his phone, going straight to his text messages. He had at least one from all of his siblings except for Liam, of course, and multiple from Lip and Fiona. He didn't even bother reading the rest after he read the first one from Fiona. That one text was enough to make him feel like the world had stopped spinning.

Fiona (8:17 am): Monica's dead

Ian couldn't pinpoint one single emotion he was feeling in that moment. He was hit with a plethora of feelings and his body almost felt numb. He locked his phone and sat it on the nightstand before getting to his feet and throwing on any clothes that he could find.

"I gotta go," he said mostly to himself but they apparently were the magic words that would cause Mickey to finally get a grip on his surroundings and wake up just a little bit.

"Where you going? Get back in bed," Mickey told him, rubbing one of his eyes.

"I gotta go," Ian repeated, putting his shoes on. He had to get out of there. He never thought that there'd be a time when he felt like he needed to get out of the apartment that he shared with his boyfriend, but he couldn't be there right now. He needed to walk, or run, or really anything that would help him take control.

Mickey sat up, furrowing his eyebrows. "Ian, what's going on? C'mere."

Ian sighed heavily and shook his head, looking for his beanie. "Where the hell is it?" He asked himself, looking in the closet, under the bed, in the dresser, anywhere that he might have left it. He felt a hand gently wrapping around his wrist, the touch making him jump out of his skin.

"Relax. Tell me what's happening."

Ian swallowed and looked at Mickey, not sure he'd be able to say the words out loud. He grabbed his phone and handed it to Mickey. He watched as the shorter man read over the text messages that had woken them up. The text messages that changed everything.

"Shit," Mickey sighed softly, tossing the phone on the bed. "Where are we going?"

Ian furrowed his eyebrows as his boyfriend looked at him expectantly. "Uh, I was gonna go for a run," Ian explained quietly.

Mickey nodded. "Alright. Just wait. I'll go with you," he said, patting Ian on the cheek as he began getting dressed as well.

Ian watched Mickey as he left their bedroom after getting dressed. He was about to follow him until the older man came back with a beanie on his head and throwing another one towards Ian.

"Don't want you getting sick," he elaborated as Ian put the beanie on his head.

They left the apartment building and it wasn't long until they were off and running. Mickey was keeping up the best he could, but they had both known that Ian would soon let his legs take over and start moving faster than Mickey would ever even attempt. So the dark haired man stayed behind, jogging as he watched Ian blow off steam. Ian knew that Mickey would be there for him to fall back on when his legs weren't doing the trick, but for now, Ian would just keep running for as long and as fast as he could and Mickey would let him.

___________________________________________________________

Mickey didn't really remember his mom's funeral. He wasn't even sure if she had one at all. He didn't remember grieving the loss when it happened. He found himself grieving the loss as he got older when he would get himself into situations where having a mom would have come in handy. Growing up gay in a homophobic environment often had him wondering if his mom would've been more accepting. While decorating his apartment with Ian, he found that he wouldn't have minded getting his mom's opinion. The nights he had to find a place to crash because Terry had had too much to drink had him wondering if things would've been different if his mom was still around.

Although his mom had died, he couldn't quite say he knew how Ian felt. Ian had known his mom. Ian had a connection with his mom that no one could ever really understand. While Monica hadn't been around much, she and Ian were still close on some level. They had almost an unbreakable bond. Mickey couldn't relate to that. Instead of trying to find the right words to say to Ian, because he knew there weren't any right words, he simply held his hand for the duration of the service.

They listened as everyone stood and made individual speeches about Monica. Some told funny stories, some said heartfelt things, some had no clue what to say. What does one say about a woman who was always compared to a disastrous storm? A woman who came into your life, fucked everything up, and left while everyone else had to clean up the mess?

Mickey listened as Ian told a story about Monica taking him to his first gay bar. While it was funny and everyone laughed, Mickey could see that Ian was internally struggling with it. Mickey had heard the story before on a few occasions. Ian loved telling it because it was one of the few good memories he had with Monica, but telling it under these circumstances, Mickey knew that Ian was struggling with it.

When Ian took his seat again, Mickey instantly reached for his hand, locking their fingers together. Ian looked down at their joined hands and Mickey could see his boyfriend loosen up just a little. Mickey was going to hold his hand all the way through this. He was going to be that rock that he had been for Ian time and time again and he was going to be that rock for as long as time would let him.

When they found themselves at The Alibi after the funeral, Mickey wasn't surprised to see Ian drinking. He was only on his first beer but had consumed three shots before he got to that first beer and Mickey would be lying if he said he wasn't a little worried.

"You should take it easy with the drinks tonight, man. You know that shit fucks with your meds," Mickey reasoned, standing between his boyfriends legs as the red head sat on a stool at the bar.

"You mean the meds I have to take because of Monica?" Ian asked, raising an eyebrow as he sipped his beer. "I'm gettin' drunk tonight, Mick. Very drunk. I would greatly appreciate it if you'd let me do that and then drag my ass home afterwards. Just let me do this, okay?"

Mickey sighed softly, knowing that it was a bad idea but also knowing that it was what Ian needed right now. He nodded shortly, not feeling comfortable with the idea of Ian drinking a lot but knowing that if there was any day for Ian to get completely plastered, it was this one.

"Alright. I can do that," Mickey said, taking the stool next to Ian.

And he did. As he practically dragged Ian up the stairs to their apartment, the red head mumbling incoherently, he felt that he maybe should've cut him off much sooner. He should've used his typical technique, telling Ian that he had drank more than he actually had to get him to agree to stop. It was manipulative and he knew that but it was the only thing that worked. He hadn't done that this time around, though, knowing that Ian really just needed any possible way to get through the day.

Once he finally had Ian in bed after struggling to hold him up and threatening the door to their apartment when it wouldn't unlock fast enough, he began stripping Ian from his suit until he was in only his boxers. He grabbed the small trash can from the bathroom and sat it next to Ian's side of the bed before he started to strip himself. Ian was still mumbling incoherently when Mickey climbed into bed with him and the red head instantly reached for him, wanting to hold him close.

"Thanks for being there today. You're nice," Ian slurred, laying his head comfortably on Mickey's chest.

Mickey kissed the top of Ian's head, trailing his fingers up and down the taller man's spine. "I'll always be here," Mickey replied honestly, hoping that Ian knew that what he was saying was true.

Mickey didn't sleep that night. His mind wouldn't shut off and he was much too worried about Ian potentially choking on his own vomit to even think about sleep. Instead, he stayed awake, holding the man he loved all through the night, ready to be there for him should the red head need him at any point.


	2. Denial

Mickey was grunting, letting out shaky breaths as Ian drilled into him. They had been fucking a lot lately. Every time the opportunity arose, Ian was on him. Their neighbors were probably completely fed up with it after two weeks but Mickey had very few complaints. Ian hadn't shown any signs of true mania so Mickey was more than happy to let Ian take his frustrations out on him.

"Oh, fuck. Right there, baby," Mickey breathed, arching his back more so that his ass was presented more prominently to the red head.

Ian's thrusts became sloppier, indicating that he was just a close as Mickey was. Mickey buried his face in a pillow when he felt Ian's cum shooting into him, the sensation being enough to push Mickey to his release as well.

Mickey's body fell so he was laying flat on his stomach and Ian rolled off of him, laying on his back and stared at the ceiling. Mickey couldn't stop his eyes from studying every inch of Ian's face like he'd done so many times before. Every freckle, every curve, every blemish. He wasn't able to do it for long, though, their comfortable silence being broken by Ian's alarm causing Ian to get up and head straight the bathroom so he could get a shower.

His shower was quick and soon Mickey watched as Ian got ready for work. It was his first day back since he had gotten the news about Monica. He seemed okay, but Mickey knew better. Ian wasn't okay and it would be a while before he was. It takes more than two weeks for someone to move on after losing a loved one. Mickey had looked up the grieving process, wanting to know what to expect. He had found that there were five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. As Mickey watched his boyfriend walk around like his world hadn't been turned upside down, he knew that Ian was in the denial stage.

Ian being an EMT was good for him. He loved his job and Mickey had seen a positive shift in Ian's mood when he had first started. The more Ian went to work, the more he loved it. Mickey worried, though. Being an EMT, looking death in the face was a common occurrence. Ian had been completely torn up when he lost his first patient. He had been upset for days after it had happened and having to deal with people dying so soon after his mom had died, Mickey was worried that it might set Ian back a little.

"You sure you're ready to go back to work?" Mickey asked as he pulled on some boxers.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Ian asked, seeming genuinely confused that Mickey would be insinuating that the red head should put it off even longer.

Mickey simply shrugged. "Just making sure."

Ian nodded and walked over to his boyfriend, sitting down next to him on the bed. "I'm okay. I'm great, actually. Monica's gone, but the rest of us gotta keep living, right?"

Mickey's eyes scanned over Ian's face, knowing that it would be easier to let the younger man go through the motions, but also wanting to push. Ultimately, he just nodded his head and grabbed the back of Ian's neck.

"Call me if you need anything, alright?"

Ian nodded his agreement before planting a chaste kiss on Mickey's lips and standing to leave. He grabbed everything he needed before heading out of the room and towards the front door.

"Love you!" Ian called over his shoulder before heading out and leaving Mickey to spend his day worrying about the red head.

Mickey had spent his day off doing whatever he could to take his mind off of his grieving boyfriend. He watched tv, cleaned up around the apartment, decided on what he was going to make Ian for dinner, anything that would be even a little bit time consuming. He'd never been one to like talking on the phone much, but when he found himself with nothing left to do, he was almost grateful when he heard his phone ringing.

"Yeah?" He answered after seeing Fiona's name on the screen.

"How's he doing?" She asked and Mickey was grateful that she skipped the pleasantries, getting straight to the point.

"Uh, I don't know. I think he's in denial. Read it on some stupid website. Five stages of grief or whatever," Mickey told her. "The anger will happen soon. Don't know how to prepare for that shit."

"You really think he's going through all that shit?" Fiona questioned and Mickey could easily picture the disbelieving look on her face. "What if he's just okay with it all and you're assuming it's denial?"

"Because I know Ian," Mickey stated simply.

"You sayin' I don't?" She asked, clearly offended by what she assumed he was trying to say.

"Nah, I'm sayin' I know him in a different way than you do. Believe it or not, he actually talks to me about shit that he doesn't talk to you about. And vice versa, I'm sure. He wouldn't just move on from this after two weeks. You didn't give a shit about your mom. Doesn't mean Ian felt the same way."

She sighed softly on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just don't get it. She was never here. Why is he messed up about someone dying that was never here to begin with?"

"Because in the time that she was around, he fuckin' bonded with her or whatever. They share a mental disorder. She was the only fuckin' person he could be around without thinkin' about someone judgin' him," Mickey explained, telling her what he remembered Ian telling him about a year ago.

"That doesn't make any sense. We'd never judge him. He knows that," Fiona argued, making Mickey scoff. "What?!" She asked defensively.

"You're judgin' him for missin' his fuckin' mom as we speak," Mickey replied, feeling himself get frustrated. He sighed before continuing. "Look, just don't worry about it. I got it covered. He'll fine."

Fiona, clearly not in the mood to argue either, simply replied, "okay," and Mickey hung up the phone.

Dealing with the Gallagher's was always going to be a part of being with Ian. Mickey had come to terms with that a long time ago. He hated the fact, but he knew that Ian was worth it. Ian would always be worth any inconvenience thrown Mickey's way.

When Ian came home that evening, Mickey had ordered a pizza and it had gotten there just a few minutes before Ian had walked in the door. Mickey had wanted Ian to relax as much as possible. He knew shit was going to get harder for his boyfriend and he wanted to do anything he could to make it easier for him.

Ian smiled a little as he sat down next to Mickey on the couch, grabbing a paper plate and put a piece of pizza on it. "How was your day?" He asked before sinking his teeth into the pizza.

Mickey nodded. "It was alright. Wish you had been here," he admitted, looking away from the tv so he could meet Ian's eyes with his own.

Ian raised a confused eyebrow but seemed happy with Mickey's reply. "You missed me," Ian teased after he swallowed the food in his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get cocky," Mickey chuckled, scooting closer to Ian. Ian wrapped one arm around Mickey's shoulders, using his other hand to keep eating.

Mickey felt content. One of his favorite times of the day was relaxing with Ian. This shitty apartment was home. The Gallagher house wasn't home. The Milkovich house sure as hell wasn't home either. Home was Ian. Mickey just hoped that in the coming weeks when things weren't all that great, Mickey could be that for Ian. He hoped that he could help Ian through what was to come. He wouldn't let him down again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: Miilkobitch


	3. Anger

Ian made his way into the Gallagher house, hoping that it would be at least kind of empty. He was in need of some serious alone time. Between work all day and Mickey all night, he just need some quiet. The smallest things had been frustrating him for a week now and if he didn't get just a minute without someone hovering over him, he was going to lose it.

It wasn't anything Mickey did. Not really. Ian knew his boyfriend was just worried. He appreciated Mickey being concerned, he really did, but he was fine. He had taken a couple weeks after Monica died. He mourned. He got it all out of his system, but for whatever reason, Mickey wasn't convinced and he was being overly aggressive as far as making sure Ian was emotionally stable. He really just needed a break from it all. What better place to be when you didn't want to be asked about your dead mom than the Gallagher house?

As he entered the kitchen, he was relieved to see only Fiona. The house was fairly quiet so he assumed they were the only ones there and he was sure that Fiona wouldn't bring up Monica. She hated her more than any of them and was the least likely to bring her up. He gave her a small smile when she greeted him, wrapping his arms around her small waist when she pulled him into a hug. The hug was short, but it filled him with just as much comfort as it did when he was a child.

“Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” She asked, pulling things out of the refrigerator so she could start cooking dinner.

Ian shrugged. “Just needed some space.”

Fiona tiled her head to the side. “From Mickey? I thought things were good with you two?”

“No, they are. Mickey's great,” he said honestly, smiling a little to himself. “Just having one of those days, I guess.”

Fiona nodded in understanding, turning the stove on. “You staying for dinner?”

“Probably not,” Ian shook his head. “Probably gonna order take out and watch tv with Mickey.”

“The person you're trying to get some space from?” She teased, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes playfully. “You know how I am with him. Even a small amount of space has me missin’ him like crazy.”

Her eyes softened and her smile grew. “He feels the same way, y’know. He's crazy about you.”

Ian nodded, sitting down at the table. He knew it was true. Mickey did love him. Mickey loved Ian almost as much as Ian loved Mickey. Mickey showed Ian how much he loved him every single day and Ian was more than grateful. Most days, anyway. He'd always appreciate everything Mickey did for him, but lately it was just getting really hard to breathe.

Fiona sighed softly, looking directly at Ian. “You needing space. Does that have anything to do with Monica?”

Ian closed his eyes, chuckling bitterly to himself. He really couldn't go anywhere without this shit being brought up, could her?

“Don't wanna talk about that shit, Fi.”

“It's okay to miss her, y’know. I get it. Well, not really, but I don't blame you. She was your mom.”

Ian shook his head and stood up. “I shouldn't have come here. I gotta go,” he muttered, standing up and reaching for the back door.

“Ian, wait. I'm not trying to push your buttons. I just want you to know you can talk to me,” Fiona said sincerely.

“That's just it, Fiona! I don't want to fuckin’ talk about it!” He snapped, causing Fiona's eyes to widen and her brows to furrow. She was just about to speak again but Ian cut her off with more of his ranting. “Why the hell would I want to talk about it, huh? She's gone. She's always been gone. I don't give a shit about her and you should really stop pretending you care about how I feel about it.”

Ian walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him before Fiona could get another word in. He knew he had probably overreacted, but before he had the chance to calm down, the words were already out of his mouth and he realized that it felt strangely good to be angry. Finally channeling all of his irritation over the past week into one thing. He'd apologize to Fiona later.

His feet took him in the direction of Mickey's and his shared apartment. He wasn't sure why his first instinct was to go there. Mickey would just ask him if he was okay, ask him if his anger was because of Monica and they'd fight about it. Maybe Ian knew that and he just simply wanted another body to yell at. It was roughly a half an hour before he was walking into their apartment and Mickey was sat on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees. Ian shut the door behind him and Mickey looked up, pursing his lips when his eyes met Ian's.

“Fiona called,” he said simply, causing Ian to snort.

“Of course she did. You guys do that a lot? You gossip about how I'm losing my shit?”

Mickey shook his head. “Not a lot. Once a week, maybe. It's mostly her asking if you're okay and me not being able to give her an answer.”

“I'm fuckin’ fine. I don't need either of you looking after me,” Ian said with heat, making his way to their shared bedroom.

“Get back here,” Mickey said, standing up and walking towards the kitchen.

“Just leave me the fuck alone! Is that too much to fucking ask?!”

Mickey couldn't have been more unbothered by Ian's outburst if he tried. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, facing Ian with his arms crossed over his chest.

“C’mere,” Mickey said gently.

Ian clenched his jaw tightly, figuring it would be easier to do what Mickey wanted so he could just go to bed.

He walked over to his boyfriend and raised an eyebrow once he was in front of him. Mickey reached for one of the cabinets, pulling out a whole stack of plates and sat them on the counter.

“Break them,” Mickey said, nodding his head towards the plates.

“What?” Ian had to have heard him wrong. There was no way Mickey was telling him to break the only plates they had.

“Break them,” Mickey repeated, moving to stand at the entrance of the kitchen and leaned against the wall.

“You can't be serious,” Ian chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head.

Mickey raised his eyebrows and Ian's eyes widened when he realized just how serious his boyfriend was. Ian shook his head and started to walk away. Mickey stopped him, though, pulling him so he was standing in front of him.

“Do it. Go crazy. You gotta get this shit out,” Mickey said softly, rubbing Ian's arms before walking over to the plates. He picked one up and dropped it on the floor. It didn't break completely, just cracked it a bit. He picked it back up and handed it his boyfriend. “Go ahead.”

Mickey walked back to his previous spot, shoving his hands in his pockets. He watched as Ian contemplated his next move and Mickey really hoped he would do this. It was the only way that Mickey could think of for Ian to get his anger out. He needed this.

Mickey relaxed his body as Ian put all of his strength into throwing the plate at the wall of their kitchen. Once he got started, there was no stopping him. He was throwing plate after plate, grunting every time a plate left his hand. The kitchen was covered in broken glass and Ian was steadily running out of things to throw.

“This is just like her, y’know?” Ian chuckled bitterly after he threw the last plate at the refrigerator. “She shows up, dumps her shit on us, and then she fuckin’ leaves.”

“I know,” Mickey said quietly, nodding his head. He didn't take his eyes off of the redhead for even a second.

“She made Fiona take care of us, she slit her fuckin’ wrists over Thanksgiving, she refused to get better. She never even thought about how her fucked up decisions would affect us,” Ian said, his voice steadily getting louder and louder with every word. “She gave me this fucked up head and just left. Everything that's wrong with me is her fault!”

Mickey knocked with tip of his nose with his knuckle and sniffed. “You done? Did you get it all out?”

Ian snorted and shook his head. “Don't think I'll ever stop being mad at her.”

“How ‘bout you keep being mad at her tomorrow,” Mickey suggested, holding his hand out for Ian. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Ian said sarcastically but took Mickey's hand nonetheless and let his boyfriend lead him to their bedroom.

Mickey sat Ian down on the bed and stripped Ian's clothes off, starting with his shoes and working his way up. When Ian was just in his boxers, he put the blanket over him before undressing and got comfortable on the other side of the bed. Ian wrapped himself around Mickey, laying his head on his boyfriend’s chest and sighed contently when Mickey kissed his forehead.

“I'm sorry for being such a pain. I don't know what's going on with me,” Ian murmured, stuffing his face in Mickey's neck.

“Don't worry about it. It's a process and you'll get through it. We’ll get through it together. I'm here. Now, go to sleep,” Mickey replied, trailing his fingers gently up and down Ian's spine.

Ian simply nodded and it wasn't long before his body relaxed completely. Mickey lay there awhile, more than happy to be Ian's rock. It's what he needed right now, even in sleep. He didn't stay there too long, though, wanting to get the kitchen cleaned up before the sun came up and Ian was inevitably stumbling into the kitchen.

He gently moved out from under Ian, careful not to wake his sleeping boyfriend. When he got to kitchen, he let his eyes scan over the destruction. It would take a while to clean up, but he didn't really mind it. The mess was made by his boyfriend who simply needed to push through this second stage of the grieving process and if all Mickey had to do was clean up the mess, he was more than happy to do it.

It took him a little over an hour to get it all swept up and into the garbage. It was truly a miracle that he hadn't cut himself even once but he wasn't going to question it. When he made it back into their bedroom, Ian was still sleeping peacefully, clinging onto Mickey's pillow. Mickey gently pried the pillow from Ian and took it spot, not being able to stop the smile that spread across his face as Ian held him as close as he possibly could.

Mickey was confident that if he could get through the anger, he could get through the rest of it. He just hoped that nothing and no one would get in the way of Ian feeling what he needed to feel.

Mickey reached over and turned the lamp off, getting comfortable in Ian's hold. Just three more stages to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: Miilkobitch

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: Miilkobitch


End file.
